MARRYING THE ROCKSTAR (#3 ROCKSTAR SERIES)

♪ six ♪

After trying on the other two dresses—without Leo's assistance—I opted to stick with the gold. Something about its shape and shade made me feel seen and powerful, irresistible.

The fact that Leo had fucked me in it might have had a tiny part in my choosing it, too. Wearing it gave me confidence, made me feel sexy. And at the same time, it gave off a certain calm coolness I had a feeling I'd be needing tonight.

Meeting Leo's friends, family, and associates as his fiancée was a difficult task that I hadn't given myself time to dwell on too much. But now the time approached and I was nervous.

Most of Leo's friends originally met me when we were fake-dating, before we realized we were in love with each other. And though they'd seen me since then, I had no doubt most of them were shocked at Leo's proposal. It was so fast, and the public still hadn't one hundred percent accepted us as a couple. Many still disbelieved our relationship, continuing to call us fake lovers drawing in press for Leo's upcoming album. Some even commented that the fakeness was to boost my career.

And a fair few others dared say we had some sort of agreement between us. I posed as his lover to get him new listeners, and he obtained contracts for me to grow my fashion reporter business.

It was all bullshit, of course, though we were both reaping the benefits of our very real relationship.

In the car, Leo held my hand, refraining from his regularly sexy behavior. He was nervous, too; his smile was smaller than usual, his shoulders tight and stressed. Was it because he was afraid of formally introducing me as his fiancée? Afraid the world wouldn't believe it? Believe in us? Believe in him?

Or afraid it would negatively impact his career, affect his fans? If they saw the gorgeous crooner rockstar was getting married and was off the market, would they still listen to his music? Share the lyrics? Sing along when the songs popped up on the radio?

"Hey," I said, squeezing his hand. "You okay?"

He offered me another tight smile, as he had been since we'd gotten in the car. "Nerves," he said, then chuckled. "Yeah, I can play for a packed stadium of thousands of people, but attending my own engagement party with the woman I love is apparently making me nauseous."

I placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. "It's going to be okay. You proposed because you were sure, right?"

He furrowed his eyebrows. "Of course I'm sure. That's not what's making me nervous. You?" He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You're perfect. They'll love you. But me?" He scoffed, turning away. "The playboy who can't keep his dick in his pants and who is caught in affairs constantly is getting married? No one is going to believe it. Especially my friends. Ha!" He snorted. "My family. Even they know."

I'd never met his parents, though his mother had sent me a friend request on nearly every social media platform. She was a kind woman, loaded with money, as was Leo's dad; but he was more discreet and hadn't attempted to befriend me.

"Then tonight, you prove them wrong. We," I kissed him again, "prove them wrong. We're a real couple, you and I, solid and unified and in this together, yeah?"

He nodded, perking up; but inside, my heart beat rapidly and my temples ached. Apparently, my pep talk only applied to him. My own encouragements didn't work on myself.

The venue was ultra elite: a rooftop terrace bar in the heart of Manhattan. The building was tall, modern and well-guarded, and the lobby leading to the elevator was empty but for a security desk and a guard who let us pass without a word.

The elegant elevator shot us upward to the top floor; and as we exited it and wandered down the mirrored hall towards the main room, I held my breath. At the hall's conclusion, the room was lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, lights blaring from the wooden ceiling.